


rises like an early warning

by sleepinnude



Series: glimmer in the brush [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester Has PTSD, Domestic, M/M, Multi, sam winchester is a good brother, selective mutism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:33:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24012133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepinnude/pseuds/sleepinnude
Summary: The unfortunate thing with Dean’s life (with all of their lives) is that it could be any number of things. Hell coming back to haunt him? The time he spent locked away while Michael ran point? Any number of childhood traumas coming out to play? Knuckles painted with Sam’s blood, with Cas’s, with his own, Benny’s arterial spray Pollocking over his face?Frankly, Benny thinks they’re lucky it manifests as nothing more than a few days of selective mutism, a Dean that’s a little more touch-hungry than usual.
Relationships: Benny Lafitte/Dean Winchester, Castiel & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Benny Lafitte, Castiel/Benny Lafitte/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: glimmer in the brush [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1635382
Comments: 21
Kudos: 160





	rises like an early warning

**Author's Note:**

> dedicated to my brother who, when i had my first bout of mutism, pounded on my door, shouted that i wasn't being "very punk rock" and then made me a pork roll, egg, and cheese sandwich.
> 
> title from delta rae's "bottom of the river"

Some days, Dean doesn’t talk. It’s the halfway point between won’t and can’t – Benny can never be sure which side it lingers closer to. 

Either way, when Dean startles awake, eyes darting, the only noise he makes is the harsh push-pull of air through his chest. Benny chants a quiet, “Hey, hey…” and puts a hand through Dean’s hair. In the artificial predawn, Dean looks around like he expects to be alone, or expects to be somewhere else. Part of the kink in his spine soothes at Benny’s touch, but not all of it.

Between them, Cas sleeps like the dead. (On his own, the angel won’t stir for hours. Benny generally loiters in bed for an hour or so before getting up. He’s teased Cas and Dean about it before, says he has a whole day, practically, before either of them pull themselves awake.) Dean shivers, crushes himself further into Cas, closer to Benny. 

The unfortunate thing with Dean’s life (with all of their lives) is that it could be any number of things. Hell coming back to haunt him? The time he spent locked away while Michael ran point? The time he spent fighting every minute to keep Michael cordoned off? Building his own water-proof coffin? That stretch of him as a demon? Any number of childhood traumas coming out to play? Knuckles painted with Sam’s blood, with Cas’s, with his own, Benny’s arterial spray Pollocking over his face? Frankly, Benny thinks they’re lucky it manifests as nothing more than a few days of selective mutism, a Dean that’s a little more touch-hungry than usual.

After a minute of Benny humming quietly, pretending it’s not to give Dean something solid to focus in on, Dean shifts. He carefully uncurls from Cas, levies his weight, fits himself between Benny’s legs and presses the whole of their chests together. Cas makes a snuffling noise into the pillow, adjusting to the loss of body heat, and Benny lays one big, warm hand directly center of Dean’s back. “Hey there, sweetheart.”

Dean hides his face into Benny’s shoulder and Benny lets him.

The better part of an hour passes that way.

Benny eventually climbs out of bed. By turns, he coaxes Dean to stay there a little longer and jostles Cas awake. The angel shoots him a look brimming with piss and vinegar until he clues into the way Dean is holding onto his wrists, the way Dean’s eyes won’t quite focus. Benny doesn’t amble out to the kitchen until Cas is fully alert and muttering Poco lyrics into the creases over Dean’s forehead. They share a look over the mussy peaks of Dean’s soft bedhead and Benny circles back to press his nose into Cas’s temple.

*

Sam makes an appearance about halfway through Benny’s breakfast preparations. He always, somehow, knows. Benny has tried to figure it out -- is it the weather or the cast of the moon or some shift in the atmosphere? But there’s nothing to track. Maybe it’s just from the puzzle-piecing of their families trauma, maybe it’s some pluck on the threads of their brotherly bond, maybe Dean feels it coming and gives Sam a heads-up. Either way, like always, Sam fusses with the coffee pot for a minute and then sighs, loosens the hinges of his shoulders and looks over to Benny.

“Is he okay?” he asks and his voice is rough and worn like he hasn’t gotten enough sleep, or has gotten too much (it’s a fine line for the younger Winchester).

Benny nods, whistles a low tone. Says, “He’s with Cas; he’s all right.”

Sam nods and gets through preparing the coffee. He watches a minute as Benny cooks, a little bleary around the edges. It’s not expectant, his gaze, but Benny shoves the first plate of food into Sam’s hand and directs him to sit down and eat it, before he collapses. Sam finds a genuine, if tired, smile at that and does as he’s told.

Not much later, Cas and Dean shuffle in, Dean following in Cas’s shadow, one hand just trailing along the hem of Cas’s flannel. Once they clear the threshold, though, Cas immediately goes for the coffee and Dean immediately goes for Benny.

“Heya, cher,” he greets low, putting a gentle hand to Dean’s waist, just for a moment. Behind them, Cas and Sam’s voices drone about translations they want to get done that day. Dean stays close -- his hair has been smoothed, by Cas’s hands if Benny had a guess. He tips a hand through the back of it and asks, “Would you get me some coffee?”

Dean does as he’s asked and when he hands a mug over to Benny, he has one for himself in his hands. He watches, silent and crowded into himself, as Benny finishes off two more plates. Handing them over to Dean, he tells him sternly, “One of those is for you, got it?” Dean nods, manages half a smile. He slinks to the table and slides one of the plates to Cas, comes back for his coffee, and then sits in front of the other.

Sam asks if Dean wants to help him and Cas with their research. Normally, it’s a question that doesn’t need asking -- of course Dean doesn’t want to help with research. Especially when they don’t have a case, when Sam and Cas are just doing their codexing, translating thing. But days like this, Dean is happy to have a place between his brother and his angel, specific tasks that he can see the other side of, that he can complete successfully. Getting coffee, delivering a plate of food, fetching books, looking up references.

So Dean just finds his brother’s eyes and nods and sets about eating his breakfast.

*

Superhuman strength means there isn’t much need for training, but the routine of it is close to meditation for Benny. He’s so far into his own mind, and Cas steps so softly, that Benny doesn’t notice Cas’s presence until he’s standing right next to his bench in what passes for the bunker’s weight room.

“Personal space,” Benny teases, a joke he wrung dry from Dean. Sitting up, he catches Cas between his knees and presses his face into the former-angel’s stomach. Cas keeps one hand on Benny’s shoulder, gentle, while the other tucks up through his hair.

“Where’re the Winchesters?” Benny asks, not pulling away so his voice is muffled. His arms tighten around Cas’s waist, holding him close so he can nose along the span of his torso, tip his face to trail toward his chest.

“Into town. One of the texts reminded Sam about strawberry rhubarb pie and they went to get ingredients.”

“Weren’t y’all reading about witchcraft?” Benny asks, leaning back to pass a quizzical look up.

Cas looks just as incredulous but it melts to a smile. “Yes. I stopped being surprised about their associations awhile back, though.”

Benny grins and nips playfully at Cas, getting more shirt than anything else. “Fair enough.” He lets Cas scritch fingers through his hair, sighing at how good it feels, how Cas goes against the grain. “How’s our boy doing?”

Cas makes an elegant gesture with his shoulders that’s half-shrug and would be half the spread of wings, if he still had them. “Well enough, I think. Still…” He waves a hand to indicate the general circumstances. “But he seemed enthused at the prospect of pie, when Sam brought it up.”

“Dean Winchester excited by pie, news at eleven,” Benny jokes. Cas gives an amused huff that isn’t quite a laugh. Benny stands, then, crowding into Cas’s space and pressing their bodies together. “Y’know what we haven’t done in a minute? Spar.”

There’s a dangerous look to Cas’s eyes because he’s human now and Benny is decidedly not. Cas is not lightweight when it comes to hand-to-hand but still. He blinks up at Benny but all it takes is a well-timed smirk to undo his hesitation.

Benny lets Cas topple him in the first few minutes and Cas would be indignant about it except that he wraps his legs around the former-angel’s waist to hold him still and kisses him like that’s what they had been doing in the first place.

Cas laughs at him but goes easily, presses into Benny’s front, plants his hands on either side of his head, kisses him until they hear the sounds of Sam and Dean coming home.

*

They end up making the pie right then because Sam’s puppy dog eyes paired with Dean’s earnest look is pretty unstoppable. Besides (Sam whines) it has to cool overnight and that means they can have pie for breakfast. Benny takes helm, directing the brothers easily and nudging Cas aside playfully when he attempts to sneak tastes from the bowls. Even with Dean still silent the brothers manage to bicker through the process but all it does is bring a fond smile to Benny’s smile. When he looks back to raise eyebrows at Cas, the former angel has a similar smile on his face, warm and worn-in.

They drink beer and eat leftovers in between checking the oven until Dean deems the pie finished. Sam scoops some of the filling out and suffers a burnt tongue for his trouble. Cas volunteers himself and Sam to clean up and Benny redirects Dean to his “cave.”

They’ve barely stepped into the hallway before Dean stops him, shoves him against the wall, fits his body against Benny’s. It’s not aggressive, or at least, there’s no heat there. No teeth and tongue and fierce movements. Just Dean slotting himself into Benny’s space. Benny leans back against the wall, easily taking the hunter’s weight. “Yeah?” he hums, keeping one hand slung low on Dean’s waist while the other trails over his shoulder blades.

Dean huffs a heavy sigh through his nose and it brushes warm along Benny’s throat. They breathe together, three long breaths, and then Dean murmurs, “Yeah.” Benny’s eyes slip shut because it’s an encouraging sign -- sometimes it’s days before they get even a sound out of him. He tries not to react beyond a bit of positive reinforcement, a dry kiss to Dean’s temple. Sometimes if they get too excited, Dean clams back up further from the pressure of it.

They end up sprawled on the couch, Benny with his head in Dean’s lap and Dean silently mouthing along to _The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance_. Cas comes in just as James Stewart (supposedly) kills Liberty Valance and wastes no time in settling himself atop Benny. The vampire huffs a little but easily rearranges himself so they’re more comfortable. Dean ends up with a hand in Cas’s hair, the other petting at the hollow behind Benny’s ear.

Once they learn the parable of the West ( _when the legend becomes fact, print the legend_ ), Cas shuffles them off to bed. Dean goes without complaint but he lazily mouths against Cas’s neck as they change and get washed up. Benny drowsily watches as Dean gets the former angel against the wall and noses along his jaw. Maybe he dips off, because the next thing he knows Dean is pocketing himself into Benny’s side and Cas is sinking along the hunter’s back. Dean sighs, Cas has his fingers through his hair.

Maybe he’ll be back to speaking tomorrow morning. Maybe he’ll laugh and cut himself a slice of pie for breakfast and kiss them through the tangy-sweet. Maybe it’ll come gradual through the day, half-words and short answers. Maybe it’ll be a few days down the line before he finds his voice, maybe next week.

Benny drops his forehead to Dean. Feels Cas’s fingertips tease over his temple. He kisses Dean deep and slow and mumbles into his mouth, “Good night, cher.”

Dean hums and closes his eyes and falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> [rebloggable on tumblr](https://sweatercas.tumblr.com/post/617233064138047488/its-the-dean-definitely-has-ptsd-deancasbenny)
> 
> please let me know what you think!


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